Fragments From Floyd

I am not sure, but I think the first white pines I ever saw were in a state where pines are like starlings--so abundant and feral the species was nothing to look at twice. Most Alabama pines grew in extensive matrices of rows and columns and were destined to become toilet paper or tossed office memos.

So when I was backpacking in the Sipsey Wilderness in north Alabama, I couldn't believe I was stunned by a pine--the stately straight white pine, unique at first glance because their branches, usually five or six, came off in whorls, one for each year the tree had lived.

They expressed purpose and pattern and seemed they must be the nobility of pines, supreme to the rank and file black pine and domesticated loblolly, slash, long and short leaf varieties that were vulgar and chaotic in branching habit. White pines were once favored for the masts of sailing ships, a purpose worthy of their good form.

Pattern in branches is especially evident when snow blots out the background with white and limbs hold snow. Finding patterns is a human necessity. We find futures in the sift of coffee grounds and tea leaves and alligators overhead in the clouds. I see them in trees in winter, especially in February when the order of spring still seems so far off, and winter is without form and void.